


Roses

by thewomanlovestheposhboy



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-06-09 22:56:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19485703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewomanlovestheposhboy/pseuds/thewomanlovestheposhboy
Summary: Her roses were red, while his were blue; They were beautiful to look at, but they were painful too.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Francesca_Wayland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Francesca_Wayland/gifts).



> Hello! This is my first time posting my work here.  
> Hope you guys like it!  
> Comments/Reviews are treasured by this author, so feel free to leave some. 
> 
> I am posting this as a gift to the amazing Francesca_Wayland because her works has inspired me to create and write my own fanfics. And for that, I want to thank her.
> 
> I also want to thank tumblt user @i-am-adlocked for creating the cover photo for this story.

Her roses were red  
While his were blue  
They were beautiful to look at  
But they were painful too

If you were to scroll through the famous blog of Dr. John Watson, you’d find an odd blog where he posts nothing but this short poem. 

The people who have read that unusual blog would tell you that it’s nothing and was just some sort of joke. Some who got really curious and visited the famous flat to learn what prompted the doctor to post the poem, would tell you that something was odd that day, because if you walked along the street near the flat, you’d smell roses. It surely was odd, since you’d see no roses around, and that there were no flower shops in the area.

But if you were to ask the Doctor, he’d look at you and smile. He wouldn’t say a word, he’d just look at you and smile, because he’d remember the sweet and painful story behind that short poem. You could try to plead for answers, but your efforts would be in vain, for betrayal isn’t in the doctor’s nature. Because you see, he has sworn not to tell anyone about what really happened. 

In order to learn about the story, you’d have to search deep within the flat. There is a journal that John keeps in his room. It’s hidden inside the cabinet of his bedside table. It’s not the journal he uses to take notes about the cases he and Sherlock Homes solved. It’s a separate journal he bought just to write the, as John Watson described it, painful yet romantic story about the poem. 

He wrote the whole story, because for him, it’s one of the monumental events in the detective’s life, and it’s worth remembering. When the detective learned about this, he demanded that the journal be kept by himself to ensure its safety, but the doctor just shook his head, and did not give in to the detective’s pleas and threats.

If ever you’d get your hands on the journal and read the contents, it would take you back to the day that John has seen blue rose petals in the bathroom sink.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

He always called her “The Woman.” At first, I never knew why my friend never called her by her name. I assumed it was because he despised her, considering that she was a cunning dominatrix who used her wits to blackmail the Royal Family and the British government. 

Of course I ruled out the possibility that he was attracted to her, because it was bloody Sherlock Holmes, the man who claims to not have a heart. But I was wrong. It wasn’t loathing, it was his way of giving her salutation.

Irene Adler was beautiful, and extremely dangerous. She had the kind of beauty that could launch a thousand ships and make men kneel before her, literally. I too, found her beautiful, but whenever I’m in her presence, I always felt like I had to run because I wasn’t safe, and that’s saying something, because according to Sherlock Holmes, I am “abnormally attracted to danger.” 

She’s not the kind of woman you should mess with, because in the end, you’re the one who would get messed up. I have learned about this fact the day Sherlock and I first met her. She has given us a lasting first impression, and has even made Sherlock stutter, and Sherlock never stutters, especially when he’s explaining the details of a case, or in short, when he’s showing off. 

That Christmas eve when he thought The Woman died, boy was the detective so heartbroken. He’d never admit it, but he was, I knew he was. He didn’t eat, didn’t talk, he also wrote sad music, and it was saddest music I’ve heard. 

There were no lyrics, but the melody sounded like someone crying, a heart that’s mourning a loved one.  
By then, I knew he loved her. He’ll never say it out loud, but I knew, and I have proof. I have a lot of small dried proof.  
Mrs. Hudson threw most of it, but I hid three dried proofs, and they’re also the first three of those dried proofs. They’re all brown now, but when I first saw them, they were blue as violets. They were the first three blue rose petals I saw in a sink in 221 B Baker Street.


	2. His Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John learns about the bizarre health condition that Sherlock has.

_A month has passed since the day Sherlock gave Irene’s camera phone to the British Government, well at least that’s what he calls his brother sometimes._

_Ever since that night, Sherlock barely got out of his room. The only thing we’d hear coming out of his room, is the sad music he wrote when he thought Irene Adler died. If I’d give his composition a title, I’d call it “Tears for The Woman.” Well, it’s obviously dedicated for The Woman, and the music, it sounds like someone crying.._

_Somehow, the weather was in sync with how Sherlock felt, because the London skies rained almost everyday ever since that night._

_I arrived at 221B soaking wet from head to foot after having a quick visit to the shop because the fridge was empty again. Sherlock was cooped up in his room the whole month and couldn’t be bothered to do, well, anything. He only went out of his room when he needs to take a shower. ._

_After putting away everything I bought, I went to the bathroom to get a shower. And in the sink, I saw three little things that weren’t supposed to be there._

_Lying on the bottom of the sink were three rose petals as blue as violets._

_At first, I was puzzled as to why rose petals were in the sink, but then I remembered that Sherlock was fond of experimenting with, well, anything._

_I was about to turn on the tap, but decided against it. There was just something about the petals that made me want to keep it. I felt drawn to them, as if they were silently screaming for me to unveil their hidden story. So, I took an empty small plastic container from the medicine cabinet, and picked up the petals._

_As I picked up the last petal, I noticed something a lot more unusual. The petal was damp, not with water, but with blood. ‘Why would there be blood on a rose petal?’ was a good question at that time, but I came up with a better question, ‘What is Sherlock up to?’_

_I shoved the plastic container in my pocket, and walked towards Sherlock’s bedroom, which was at the end of the hall, but before I could knock on the door, I heard him cough loudly._

* * *

“Sherlock? Are you alright?" John asked as he knocked on Sherlock’s bedroom door.

“I’m fine, go away!” he heard Sherlock answer between coughs.

“You don’t sound fine.”

“I’m fine, John!” Sherlock answered before the coughs resumed.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m going to call Mrs. Hudson to open your door!”

John heard Sherlock groan loudly before went down to call Mrs. H.

“Mrs. H? Uhh, can you please give me the keys to Sherlock’s bedroom? He’s refusing to let me in.” John told Mrs. Hudson, who was washing the dishes.

“Why? What happened? Are you having a little domestic?” Mrs. Hudson asked, worry present in her voice.

“Wh- What? No! How many times do I have to tell you that Sherlock and I aren’t a couple and that I am not gay!?” John tried to say calmly but failed. It always irritated him whenever people assume that he and Sherlock were a couple.

“Whatever you say, dear.” Mrs. Hudson chuckled as she handed the keys to John.

“Thanks.” John sighed, his tone still slightly irritated. He ran upstairs and went straight towards Sherlock’s bedroom door with the keys on his hand, only to find that the door was slightly ajar.

Then, he noticed something different. Something was peculiar, because the air smelled different. It smelled like flowers, and it seems like the scent was coming from Sherlock’s bedroom.

John heard Sherlock cough again, but this time, the sound came from the bathroom.

He slowly walked towards the bathroom, and found that the door, like Sherlock’s bedroom door, wasn’t closed. John sighed with relief, because he knew that if he wanted to check up on Sherlock, this is his chance. He was sure that if he didn’t grab this opportunity, Sherlock would lock himself up in his room again and, Mycroft was already giving him hell, by bombarding him with texts asking for updates on Sherlock.

“Sherlo-“ John spoke as he entered the bathroom, but was stunned when he saw the sate of his best friend.

Sherlock, looking gaunt than ever, was coughing his guts out and the sink was splattered with blood.

“Jesus Christ, Sherlock!” John cried.

Sherlock spun around, obviously startled at John’s sudden loud cry, and lost his balance. Luckily, john was able to hold his arm on time to steady him.

“I’ve got to get you to the hospital.” John said, as he started to lead Sherlock outside of the bathroom.

Sherlock yanked his arm away from John’s grip, which again, made him lose his balance, but this time, he was able to hold the sink for support. “You are not taking me anywhere.”, he said with difficulty before he started to cough again.

“For Christ’s sake, Sherlock, stop being stubborn! You need medical attention!” John shouted out of frustration. He was furious at how stubborn Sherlock was, and at the same time, was worried about the state of his friend.

“A hospital can’t help me!” Sherlock shouted back, after he spat blood into the sink.

John scowled at Sherlock’s response. “How can a hospital not help you? For God’s sake, Sherlock, you always show off that massive intellect of yours, so why aren’t you using it now that you need it?!”

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, and heaved a deep sigh. “John, I know how bad this looks, but please, listen to me.” He paused, to let out a single cough. “You know me as a man of logic, and I do whatever I deem necessary, you know that. But this, this is something that science can’t fix.”

John, opened his mouth to argue, but Sherlock continued speaking. “ I know that what I just said sounds illogical, believe me, even I can’t believe that those words will ever come out of my mouth, but it’s true.”

John still wasn’t convinced but, he allowed Sherlock to continue.

“When this bloody cough started, I did take medicine, but it didn’t stop, and then something inexplicable happened. Two weeks ago, I coughed and something came out of my mouth, and it wasn’t phlegm, it was a bloody petal.”

“A what?!” John can’t believe what he just heard. “How can a petal come out of your mouth?”

“I’m also asking the same thing. Currently, I’ve been researching, but-“

“Wait, so those petals,” John paused to fish the plastic container containing the petals he picked from sink moments ago out of his pocket, and showed it to Sherlock before he continued, “these petals, they came out of your mouth?”

“Where did you get that?” Sherlock was puzzled to see that John had some of the petals he was talking about.

“I saw it in the sink a while ago, and one of the petals had blood, so..” hearing his own words, John realized that what Sherlock was saying, and the fact that he saw him coughing up blood, plus the petal that was stained with blood, which he saw a while ago, fitted together. John shook his head and can’t believe that the thoughts he just had made sense to him. Sherlock must be pulling a joke on him, he must be. “Are you trying to make fun of me? Are you just waiting for me to believe you so that you could have a good laugh?”

“I know it sounds crazy-“

“Yes, yes it does. A petal just can’t come out of your mouth. I know you think I’m stupid, well everyone is stupid for you, but I’m a doctor, I’m also a man of science, just like you.”

“I know that, and I’m not trying to fool you, John. If you want proof, look at the sink.”

For a second, John hesitated. He was unsure about what to feel. He’s a doctor, an army doctor, a man of science, so how can he possibly believe that the petals he saw came from Sherlock’s mouth? He decided to look at the sink, and told himself that he’ll punch Sherlock if he proved that he was lying. But what will he do if the detective was saying the truth. John sighed and looked at the sink.

He can’t believe his eyes. Drenched in blood, were petals exactly like the ones he saw moments ago.

“B-but how can this happen? Why are you coughing up petals?” He asked, nonplussed about the fact that petals are coming out of his friend’s mouth.

“Well, as I was saying-“ Sherlock stopped mid sentence, because he started coughing again. This time, John witnessed the most bizarre thing he ever saw, Sherlock, after a series of violent coughs, spat out blue rose petals drenched in blood, which made John’s mouth agape.

Sherlock noticed the facial expression of the doctor, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He can’t blame the doctor. He, himself didn’t know why it’s happening to him. “Uhmm, well, I started researching about my strange health condition, and I can’t seem to find anything that’s backed by science. But I did find something. But it's ridiculous.”

“Well, isn’t your condition ridiculous enough already?” the doctor, who just recovered from his fazed state, asked with a bit of humor in his tone.

“Good point.” Sherlock managed to smile, despite the situation he was in.

“What did you find?”

“There’s this disease, that originated from Asia, where the person coughs up flower petals and finds it difficult to breathe, which is exactly my situation.” Sherlock barely managed to finish his sentence, before he started coughing again.

“Okay, so, what is it called?” John nodded and folded his arms.

“It’s called the Hanahaki disease”

"And?" John stared at his friend, expecting more information.

"But, it's fictional."

“Fictional?! So it’s not true?” John asked.

“Nope.”

“So how do you get cured?”

“I hate to say this, but I absolutely have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry if it took me a long time to update. I just had a very difficult time deciding, whether I'd write the whole chapter in John's point of view, or not. I decided not to, because I felt like the story would be too short if I did. Hope you enjoyed it! Do leave kudos if you're feeling kind, and tell me your thoughts about the chapter.


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